


Hemlock

by mitsuboo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - No War (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Assassination Attempt(s), Dark Comedy, Edelgard and Dimitri are normal siblings, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Macabre Humor, No Smut, Romantic Comedy, Scheming, all the dads are alive, everyone is dumb, idiot plot, more emotional byleth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27772366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsuboo/pseuds/mitsuboo
Summary: Byleth Eisner, desperate for money to provide for her family, accepts a job as an assassin. At the request of her mysterious benefactor, she poses as a noblewoman of the Adrestian Empire to become closer to her target, prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and learn the secrets of the Faerghus royal family.It really should not be this difficult.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 21
Kudos: 64





	1. Asphodel

Jeralt Eisner was nearly murdered on his 25th year anniversary. Not by his wife, thankfully, but by a man with a very sharp knife. He had a second knife under his coat, or else Jeralt would not have been stabbed. It was the second knife that got him. 

It was terribly inconvenient for everyone involved. 

Especially for his assailant, who, unfortunately, had terrible aim. 

He should have brought a _third_ knife. The first one was knocked out of his hand immediately, yet the reveal of the _second_ knife caught the mercenary captain by surprise. Jeralt pushed Sitri away in an instant. She stumbled into the street and watched in fear as her husband doubled over against the blade, and dropped to his knees. 

Unbeknownst to Sitri, or the assailant, or the screaming crowd of shop-goers, the blade missed his vital organs. It simply hurt, quite a lot in fact. 

“Really?” Jeralt squinted up at the grinning attacker, “In broad daylight? Are you stupid?”

“You ruined my life, Blade-Breaker! You ruined everything!” He was screaming, waving his lightly bloodied dagger in the air, “You killed all of my brothers in arms!”

“I don’t even know who you are!”

“Filthy mercenary!” He raised the dagger over the crumpled form of the Blade-Breaker, “You’ll pay for what you’ve done!”

Jeralt didn’t have any money to pay for this. He was taking his wife to dinner, he only brought enough gold to pay for a meal at the local restaurant. This was certainly an interruption on his and Sitri’s evening. 

Fortunately, his assailant was stupid. It was broad daylight on a busy street in a frequently traveled village in Northern Adrestia. Guards jumped on the man and had him pinned to the ground before he could swing his weapon - though Jeralt would swear to his grave that man's initial aim was so bad that he simply would have missed again. 

For a man who had been stabbed, beaten, and bruised all of his life, Jeralt did not care very much for the wound. Sitri attempted to heal him with her old knowledge from her priestess days, though his aging body refused to cooperate. Perhaps it was how he still bought her dinner several minutes after being stabbed in the side, or perhaps it was his lack of care for changing his bandages, but the local doctor announced Jeralt Reus Eisner as ‘unfit for work’.

He argued. He raved and he ranted. The doctor became very stern with him, thus followed his wife becoming very stern with him. Jeralt was stuck between a rock, and a hard place. He was in his 50’s, and had a touch of arthritis, among knee issues and a small beer belly that he swears was not there before. He was not young any longer, and the thought of not being able to work destroyed him. 

Yet, Sitri would not budge. Jeralt could not stand without pain shooting up his from the wound, and she _truly_ hated listening to him complain about it. 

Thus, the torch of 'provider' for the Eisner family passed down to his daughter, Byleth. It, also, was terribly inconvenient for everyone involved. 

While the Eisner family was not well-known, the name ‘Blade-Breaker’ was. The retirement of the Blade-Breaker was incredibly popular news for exactly two days, with a short spike in crimes from celebrating bandit groups.

For the two days it lasted, it traveled on the wind, and reached the one person it should not have. 

* * *

“Well damn, who’s going to kill the prince now?”

This man had not _asked_ the Blade-Breaker yet, though he was sure he would say yes. He had a history of doing the dirtiest of jobs, and while not quite a criminal, he might easily be convinced with the amount of gold he was offering. Nobody could resist that number, it was far too high, with far too many zeroes to count. 

Yet, word on the wind said that the Blade-Breaker was retired from a stab wound of a vengeful attacker. He’d have to find another way to start this war. And perhaps that was fate, a miracle in disguise sent by the Goddess herself. Perhaps he was not to begin the bloodshed in such a violent way. There'd be _enough_ violence when the battles began. 

“You know what I think?” He spoke to himself, rather than the young man at his side sipping tea, but did not wait for an answer, “I think we might take this as a sign.”

His young companion nearly choked on his sweet apple blend, “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“The Blade-Breaker, boy, the mercenary! The one we were going to hire?”

Correction: “The one you and _that_ _man_ were going to hire!”

It didn’t matter, they were family, and family worked together. He would play his part soon enough. “Perhaps it’s a sign that we should start this war in a much more subtle manner…”

The young man took another demure sip, though his discomfort shown through his fingers and bouncing knee. “Oh?”

“How old’s the prince? Your age, right?”

“Right.”

“I think I’ve got it,” the older one rubbed the sparse hair above his lip in thought, “my boy, I’ll need your help with this. Introduce me to all the pretty girls you know.”

A pregnant, uncomfortable pause. “What are you planning, father?”

“We’re starting a war, boy, haven’t you been listening? Every good war is started with a beautiful woman.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard that before, but it certainly sounded nice. The discomfort of the conversation began to eat away in his stomach, and no amount of sweet apple blend tea would soothe his anxiety. He sipped, and sipped, and stared at the wall in discomfort. 

All of the pretty girls he knew. He knew plenty. But it would not be very noble to involve a lady in something like war, even _he_ wanted nothing to do with this plan. 

“Father, really, I don-”

“Ferdinand von Aegir, who are you?”

His shoulders straightened to attention, and he smiled as brightly as the sun, “Ferdinand von Aegir!”

“And do you have loyalty to the Empire and the future Empress?”

He deflated, “Y-Yes of course, but-”

“Then you will find me an assassin. A woman, beautiful, refined, and dangerous. You'll go,” his father sat back in his chair and spread his legs, gulping down his tea in the worst manner possible, “and _don’t_ come back until you’ve got her.”

"Don't come back?"

" _Don't_ come back."

Beautiful, refined, and most importantly dangerous. All to kill the prince. Ferdinand did _not_ want to be kicked out for an entire year again.

“...Yes, father. Of course.”

* * *

In the Eisner household the event of their 25th year anniversary began to collectively be referred to as ‘The Stabbing’. It had a macabre ring to it that Sitri and Byleth enjoyed, and everytime anything mildly bad happened, the cause was attributed to The Stabbing. 

The chickens did not lay eggs one day. Sitri whispered to herself that it was the damn Stabbing again. 

A poor crop of turnips, it was The Stabbing. 

Sitri caught a cold; obviously it was become _someone_ had been stabbed. 

Jeralt despised every joke, every giggle, every heckle. Yet, it made his wife and daughter smile, and that was all he could ask for. They needed to smile in times like this, with these bad crops and these eggless chickens and the rampant colds. Winter in Adrestia was nearing, and he saw the exhaustion on Sitri’s face. 

Byleth hid her worry better than her mother. Her concern would do nothing good for the family, only pile on top of her mother’s already ardent worry, and cause her injured father shame. She did not think a 50 year old man that was stabbed in the stomach _should_ be ashamed for such a thing, though she knew it was different for him. He had provided for her and Sitri for so long, to suddenly be unable to move without intense pain, she assumed he was slowly being driven insane. _She_ would be, in his situation. 

Her ability to hide her concern from her family was not enough to keep her calm. Under the blank face and dim eyes, she was screaming. Constantly. Constant anger, worry, and anxiety. 

All because she had to do math. How she _despised_ math. 

“How’s it lookin’?”

“Oh, you know,” Frantic, Byleth bit her lip and slid the parchment between the pages of a book, “the usual. Just a bunch of numbers.”

Jeralt rested his chin in his palm and watched his daughter's fidgeting. She tended to hide her finances in her books, in her shirt, sometimes even crumpling the paper up and eating it in her attempt to keep secrets. He knew she got her private tendencies from him, though he'd never gone so far as to eat and swallow paper to keep his father from looking at something. “Come on kid, what kind of numbers? What do they say? I know you hate this stuff, I’ll do it if it’s stressi-”

“Stop, please,” she looked up, snapping the book shut and holding it to her chest, “I’ll do it, you shouldn’t have to think about such things. Plus, it would be a pain to convey all my work earnings to you.”

Her smile was fake. Jeralt saw right through her. She was fortunate that he was not the kind of man to pry into his daughter’s business. She held the book closer and stood from the table as he watched. A light breeze blew through the open window and ruffled her hair. Jeralt closed his eyes against it, and took in the sunlight streaming onto his form. "Fine, that's okay. I trust you, kid. I'm sure everything looks great."

If Byleth were more prone to bouts of insane laughter, she would've doubled over. Her father had never been so wrong. A cool breeze ruffled her hair once more as she pushed her chair back against the dining table. It was a warm day outside, but the wind hinted at the threat of a frost. The cold tended to make Jeralt's wound, fingers, and knees hurt more than usual.

“You're right to trust me,” she offered a genuine smile now, “Our finances are fine, we’re going to make it.”

The Eisner family was _not_ going to make it. This hardship most definitely was caused by The Stabbing, though Byleth would never say that to his face. 

Sitri worked as much as she could, attempting to run their meager farm outside of Remire village. Jeralt helped when he was not in pain, but the wound had only exasperated the other pangs of his past. Life as mercenary had brought him scars, dislocated bones, and years of hard labor. The local doctor mentioned that Jeralt Eisner had the body of a 70 year old, and the mind of a 20 year old. 

Byleth could believe that. Oftentimes, _she_ was the one to convince her father to stop working when he was hurt. While Jeralt was not aware that the extra provisions from the farm would not sustain the family for very long, with taxes rising higher and the wind blowing colder, he still insisted on bringing in gold when he possibly could. It was not often, but Sitri and Byleth turned a blind eye for the sake of his own mental and emotional health. Staring at the wallpaper all day, every day, could not be good for a man who had lived so actively. 

Unfortunately, Jeralt's mercenary group chased new horizons after the retirement of their captain, and Sitri had a panic attack every time Byleth was within a mile of danger. The wood chopping jobs, the selling of extra provisions, the repairs on local houses - they were not enough.

The math added up to very sad numbers, sadder than ever before. She carried her book to her room down the hallway, and placed it inside of her drawer. Her parents would not dare to invade her privacy, they would not _want_ to if they cared about their sanity. Jeralt remained in the kitchen and soaked up the sun as his old bones rested. 

There had to be something she could do for her family. And she was the only one who could. Sitri was getting old as well, though with less scars. She was the only child, and it was her responsibility to care for her parents. 

Sighing, Byleth slung her bow over her shoulders and walked through the kitchen. Jeralt’s eyes followed her while she picked up the basket of bread and jam waiting on the counter. “Is it already Thursday?”

Byleth hummed, “Yes, you know that. You helped make this.”

“I just don’t like to admit it.”

“You’re wonderful at bread,” she frowned, nestling the handle of the wicker basket in the crook of her arm, “perhaps you should be a baker when you recover.”

He waved a nonchalant hand, “Not my thing. I’ll just go back to swinging a lance.”

Byleth glanced out the window. Her mother, with messily braided hair and a smiling face, worked in the garden. “I don’t think she’ll let you. She’s enjoyed having you around.”

“I’m going crazy,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m so bored.”

“Learn stitching like all the other stay at home wives.”

“Very funny. Get outta here.”

It _was_ very funny, if she were forced to praise herself. Abiding to his command, she turned and left with the basket on one arm, and her bow on the other. A quiver of arrows hung from her waist and bounced against her thighs as she let the outside door slam shut behind her. 

It was Thursday, bread delivery day. Byleth hated bread delivery day more than math. 

Remire village was full of kind people, with kind faces and kind hands. The family farm was a mile away, a cottage nestled into the woods. It was near a clear pond with well kept fish, and a thriving, but small, garden. Ivy climbed up it's sides and kept the stones held together. Byleth adored the cottage, she knew she would live there with her own family one day, very far into the future. Not many knew that the Blade-Breaker himself was the current resident, and anybody who did was kind enough to not divulge the information to those who might hurt him. That was what Byleth liked about Remire and it’s people, they were considerate.

If only they weren’t so chatty. She dreaded Thursday and it's long winded conversations. 

The old woman who ran the vegetable stand gossiped to her about her best friend, which was the woman who ran the meat stand. Apparently, the meat stand woman had given another woman’s husband a flirtatious look. Byleth suggested that, perhaps, she had a hair in her eyes and that was why her lashes fluttered so wildly. The vegetable stand woman would not have it - Byleth had to stuff the loaf of bread in her hand to get her to finally breathe between words. 

After _that_ woman, was the owner of the the restaurant, who was relentless in her questions about Byleth’s father. She, too, stuffed bread in her hands. Cherry jam, as well, from the large fruit tree that grew outside of the town. Sitri could often be seen scavenging in the forestry nearby, something Byleth knew the old ladies of Remire gossiped terribly about. 

Thursday meant only replying in grunts, dropping jars of jam onto counter tops, and briskly leaving. She hated gossip _even_ _more_ than math and bread day combined. 

But sometimes, on very rare occasions, she would hear something incredibly interesting from the loud mouthed old women of Remire. Unbeknownst to Byleth Eisner, this week, and this snippet of gossip, would change her life course as she knew it.

“Oh, Byleth, hold on a minute.”

She froze in the doorway. Stiff, she turned on her heel and stared at the restaurant owner. She kept her face impassive, though her stomach churned with the anxiety of having to avoid _another_ barrage of questions. “Yes?”

She picked at her nail ever so casually, “There’s something you might want to see at the inn today.”

Byleth glanced down at her basket. Stuffed in the corner was a list of names, the villagers who ordered Sitri’s weekly bread. The owner of the inn was not on the list this week. “It’s a little out of my way.”

“Oh my dear,” condescendingly, she titled her head. Byleth despised that look, the crinkle of her chin and the furrow of her eyes, pity for her mind and her family and her status as a very poor little girl with no education. She glared, though the woman ignored the look, as Byleth was known for her dagger-like glares, “You _want_ to go see. There’s a visitor.”

A visitor. She had no other relatives that she’d ever be interested in meeting, nor any friends. Unless this visitor had bags of money, she didn’t care. “Why?”

“Why is there a visitor or why do I think you should go see?”

“Both, I guess?” It came out more as a question. She shifted in place uncomfortably, “What’s your intent?”

The woman ticked her tongue against her teeth, “So blunt. I don’t have an intent… Okay, fine, I do. A very handsome man is staying there.”

This was another aspect of Remire that rubbed her wrongly, though she assumed it would happen in any village. Being a young woman of 21 years naturally attracted the attention of the older ones. In their eyes, she was an old maid by then. She attempted to inform them all that it was perfectly normal to be single at 21, most nobility were still single in their 20’s, and times had changed. Nobody believed her, as expected. 

Wordless, uninspired, Byleth turned around to leave. 

“W-Wait! He’s also offering a job to any young woman willing to take it!”

She froze. 

“A job?”

The restaurant owner melted into an embarrassed smile, “I don’t know what kind, if he’s looking for… you know, something improper, then of course don’t accept. But I don’t think it’s anything like that! He’s very kind.”

Byleth wasn’t quite sure what ‘something improper’ was, though she did not dwell. The words echoed in her mind, "Thank you so much, really, I mean it."

Another casual wave of her hand, followed by the crinkled chin of condescension, though Byleth found herself unable to be angry at the old woman. "I know your family needs it, I've heard things, you know, about-"

Byleth shut the door before the gossip could begin once more. She had no care for politeness, other than what was expected from another human being. Her mind glued itself to the thought of the man in the inn, looking for someone. 

A job. He was paying. It might be exactly what her family needed. 

Byleth ran across the marketplace, turning left down an alley and taking a sharp corner around a series of houses. The inn lay ahead, abandoned at this time of day. She burst into the sitting room with a basket of bread and wind-blown hair. Her mouth hung open, with her eyes wide and chest rising and falling. The assumption that it was empty was correct, besides one man covered in an embroidered red cloak. The color of nobility, of Adrestia. 

Her eyes landed on him in the corner of the room, sitting by himself. He looked back, and eyes lit up like fire on paper. 

She could not help herself.

“Job.”

The light in his eyes dimmed as quickly as it came. He cringed and reared back, hands on his seat as he stared at her across the room, “Job?”

Byleth gave a heavy nod, “Job," Sitri would lecture her about talking like a country bumpkin. She shook her head and tried once more, "I-I was told you have a job offer.”

“Oh!” He perked up, “Well, I didn’t know this village had any young wome-”

“How much are you paying?”

His gaze fell into impassive annoyance. He huffed as if he was offended. Byleth let the door shut behind her, leaned her bow and quiver against the wall, and approached his table. The fire from the corner of the room was warm and cozy, though this man wore a heavy cloak as if it was freezing. He pulled his cover closer to his body when she took the seat across from him. 

His eyes flickered to the basket of bread, then back to her. They raked her body from her head, to her waist. Byleth continued to stare. 

“...Excuse me, you just caught me off guard,” his smile was like sunshine, genuine and polite, “What’s your name?”

“Byleth Eisner. How much are you paying?”

He blinked in confusion.

Byleth blinked in return. 

The sound of the fire crackling in the corner was the only noise under the awkward air between them. The inn was empty, and quiet, and stuffy. She eyed the intricate embroidery on the edges of his cloak, and the vest he hid underneath. His hair rolled over his shoulders in silky waves, like she imagined a Queen’s would. 

This man was obvious nobility, aside from the fact that he was not from Remire. He was not used to her blunt tones and her impassive stares, she reminded herself to loosen her shoulders and smile as nicely as she could. He visibly calmed as she directed the expression across the table. "I'm sorry," She fluttered her hands towards her basket, “Your kind usually share food before discussing business, correct?”

His brows furrowed in horror, “My kind?”

“You know…" how to insult him _without_ insulting him, she wondered, "Nobility… Rich people.”

“Ah,” he nodded as if he had this reaction every day, as if he was proud of the class divide, “Yes, but we’re not really in the correct environment for such things.”

“I have bread,” she pulled out a warm loaf and held it to him over the table, “My mother and father made it together, with love.”

She watched his eyes widen. Shock, confusion, mixed with something pleasant - they all flashed over his face. He stared at the loaf, "With love?”

“Yes. very much of it.”

Byleth had never seen such a pretty man before, and she had never seen such a pretty man be _this_ taken aback before, especially not by _her_ words. She was blunt like a training dagger, and covered in mud like an old pair of boots. She was sure she had not even brushed her hair that day. Yet, this mysterious man with his pretty eyes and smooth skin looked at her as if she’d given him a precious diamond. 

Gently, he took the bread. He held it close, and sniffed it, then looked up at her, “Thank you very much. I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.”

“Byleth Eisner,” she straightened up in her chair, “I work very hard, and my father got hurt a while back so we don’t have much money, so I kind of have to work hard now. And I really, _really_ , need a job.”

She did not usually ramble in this way. Her voice never came out in waves, and never was it very loud. She surprised herself with the proper presentation of her words. The man only smiled and held his bread - made with love. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Von Aegir.

Von Aegir. The noble family. The prime minister’s family. 

He was very rich. 

She could not help it. “How much are you paying?”

Ferdinand von Aegir was not taken back any longer, not with the offering of bread. He smiled and tilted his head casually, “10,000 gold." 

_That_ was a nice number, that was the kind of number she wanted to see on her finance sheets. That was the kind of number she could count over and over. That was the best number she’d ever heard. 10,000 Gold. She repeated in her mind, the sound growing sweeter and sweeter with every passing second. 

“A-Are you okay?”

Falling back down from the clouds, Byleth nearly jumped in her seat, “Yes, I’m sorry! I was just zoned out!”

“I… think you drooled.”

“I didn’t! I just… I leak sometimes.”

Ferdinand von Aegir eyed her as if he was barely containing his thoughts. A flash of concern passed over his features, before he replaced it with another kind smile. He was nice, the kind of noble who dared to entertain the commoners and their many improprieties. He did not condescend, though she felt that he hid something underneath the kind smile and sunny eyes. 

And the hammer would drop. His smile fell as quickly as it came, “I don’t think you’re what we’re looking for.”

We. So it was not only him in search of a young woman. She perked up, “Do you want another loaf of bread?”

“No, I’m okay thank you.”

“What’s wrong? At least tell me, I need that money lord Aegir, you don’t understand-”

“I know-”

She huffed at the interruption, “No, you don’t. I don’t know you, but I can bet that you’ve never had to worry about not being able to feed your family in the winter. I can work hard,” she gripped the sides of her seat in anxiety, her knee bouncing under the table and her eyes pleading, “I’ll do anything, I’ll become anything. Just tell me what it is.”

“I…” he opened his mouth, looked down, and shut it. A deep sigh and an avoiding glance, “I can’t tell you the job. I apologize.”

Desperation ate away at her stomach, “Then tell me why I’m not right for it, at least.”

To answer her seemed especially difficult. He set his bread aside and fiddled with his fingers in his lap. As if scolding himself, he shut his eyes and relaxed his shoulders, leveling her with a determined look. Byleth began to wonder if this truly was the ‘something improper’ that the restaurant owner had mentioned. 

“Listen, you’re beautiful, but…” he paused and bit his lip, studying her face, “you’re very… you’re not really refined.”

Refined, he said. Refined? She was not refined? 

_She_ was not refined? She, Byleth Eisner, who could easily eat steak without getting meat juice all over her shirt? That was a talent, she thought, her father certainly could not do that. Aside from the lack of meat juices, she was raised by Sitri Eisner, the most refined woman in the world. Surely, there was _something_ refined about her. 

“E-Excuse me,” Byleth scoffed and put a hand to her chest, “You’ve only known me for two minutes now.”

He pointed at her hair, then dragged his finger to her shoulder, to her arm and the smudge of dirt across her skin. His gaze dropped into impassive boredom, “Sorry, really, but nobility such as me can tell. Your posture is… Hm, well, it’s not good.”

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. He sighed, going on, “Do you not wash regularly?”

“Every other day, of course.”

He raised a brow, “In a swamp?”

It was a forest creek. She glared, “I was busy today and didn’t have time to brush my hair or wash my face.”

“You should never be too busy enough to not brush your hair.”

It was evident that they lived two very different lives. Byleth awoke in the morning, dragged water from the river, and poured it over the plants. She milked the cow, let out the chickens, cooked breakfast. She weeded the garden and dug in the dirt and went hunting for deer at the rise of dawn. This noble man most likely slept all morning until he fancied waking up. 

How dare he judge her hair? It was far too bad that his money was so tempting. “I can learn how to take care of myself if that’s what you need.”

He glanced away and stared at the floor, “You have potential, I just believe it would be too much work. It’s not worth it.”

10,000 gold. It was slipping through her fingers. Her heart skipped a beat and she leaned forward, “How many others have you interviewed?”

“No one besides you in this village,” another sincere smile, “but in other villages there have been many young women I’ve spoken to.”

“And you’ve not made a decision?”

His smile fell, “No, not yet.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Byleth couldn’t imagine what kind of job he was offering. He could not tell her, yet she had to be beautiful, refined, and it paid far more than any kind of job she’d ever had. It was obvious that it was something important to this man, with his uncomfortable shifting around and his avoidance of her eyes. 

Something else was going on. She knew it. Ferdinand crossed his arms and sighed, “I cannot tell you. There’s just something those women did not have that is dearly needed for this position.”

“Tell me.”

“I really cannot, it’s top secret Imperial business.”

“Is it drug smuggling?”

He was taken aback, gasping, “No! Of course not!”

“I’ll smuggle drugs, I don’t care.”

“Miss Eisner, please! It’s nothing like that!” He stood from his chair and took his bread in one hand, holding his cloak together with the other. With obvious discomfort, he gazed around the empty sitting den and sighed, “I’ll just have to keep looking for the perfect candidate… I can’t go home until I do.”

That caught her attention. She stood with much less grace than him, the legs of her chair scraping against the ground. “You can’t go home?”

“My father is very strict,” he nodded as if she would know exactly who he was speaking of, “I have been traveling for months now since our first candidate was stabbed and out of commission.”

Stabbed and out of commission, she knew the feeling. “I can become whatever you wish for me to be. Don’t you want to go home?”

“Yes, but…” hesitant, he held his bread offering closer, “it’s not really something that can be learned in a short amount of time.”

“What is it?”

“Again, I cannot tell you.”

“Please?”

“No, I am sorry.”

“I gave you bread!”

“And I thank you for that.”

Impossible. Nobles were stingy, coming to inns and spouting nonsense about jobs. It was painful to know the pay, and not be able to do it. He would not budge, no matter how harshly she glared. 

Huffing, she turned away and headed towards the door, “Fine then, I hope you find her one day.” Leaning down, she adjusted the basket on her arm and hoisted her bow over her shoulder, “But if you don’t, then don’t come crying to me.”

Which was a lie. He could spit on her and she’d still take the job. Desperation and love for her parents killed every bit of integrity she _thought_ she had. 

Ferdinand von Aegir did not respond. Byleth opened the door, and put one foot out, and paused. Would he call to her, to beg her to come back? Would he change his mind? She stood for a moment, hoping for something, _anything_ , a call for her to wait and reconsider. 

“Excuse me, but is that your weapon?”

10,000 gold. How precious this world was to offer her something so beautiful. 

“Why yes, it is.”

“Do you fight?”

“Yes,” attempting her best nonchalant, uninterested face, she glanced over her shoulder at the awkwardly standing noble, “I use a bow and sword.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” Ferdinand von Aegir did not look as if he did. His brows remained furrowed and his mouth twisted into something unexplainable. He fidgeted with his hands behind his back and his feet shifting. His smile was hesitant and concerned. 10,000 gold, 10,000 and whatever odd job he had in store for her. 

Mother and father would be elated. She simply had to play her cards correctly.

His answer was slow and hesitant. Byleth waited patiently for him to process his thoughts, until he finally could release the words, “How good are you, if I may ask?”

This was working perfectly. This was exactly what she needed, fighting and weapons and strength. Beauty and vanity were nothing when she could have her swords, and swords seemed to be what this noble was interested in. Excitement gripped at her chest as she smiled, “I’m very good. Would you like to spar?”

Another hesitant exhale. He took a moment to answer, “I… I believe I would like to give you a chance. You'd need work with your... appearance," he grimaced, "but none of the other women I've interviewed can fight. If you can beat me in battle, then I will hire you.”

He spoke so confidently, so rightfully. Byleth could only give him a rare, excited smile. She had discovered the missing piece of this puzzle without even trying. All she had to do was fight, and she had done that her entire life. 

Ferdinand von Aegir followed her to a clearing in the forest - before putting his bread up in his room very gently - and produced an expensive looking lance from the back of his equally expensive looking horse. He offered her an extra sword, one that did not feel right in her hands. 

But it was a sword, and she was Byleth Eisner. She swung it once, nodded, and readied herself for the battle. 

10,000. The dark bags under her mother’s eyes would disappear. Her father would stop staring at her with such guilt. She could do this, she could provide for them, and they would not starve this winter. 

10,000 gold. Ferdinand von Aegir, one of the richest men in the country. He was most likely trained by the best, but he did not know that her own father was better than any teacher the Empire had to provide. Byleth rested her sword on her shoulder, and watched as he took his stance. 

And he charged. 

And he was knocked onto his back in an instant. She leveled the tip of her borrowed sword against his neck, and tilted her head, “Again?”

Ferdinand’s eyes widened as he realized what had happened. It was far too quick, though the pain of being kicked in the stomach by a muddy boot finally set in. He gasped, and pushed himself up, “Yes, again please.”

Byleth could comply. Calmly, she watched Ferdinand take his place once again. He spread his legs, he bent them and twisted his waist. She could see the uncertainty on his left side, her father often did the same, though far more subtly. 

With a yell, he charged. 

The clash of weapons in the quiet Adrestian afternoon. The flash of steel under the sun, and the ragged breathing of a noble who had never been in a real battle. Byleth counted in her mind, 20 seconds, 21, 22, 23…

At 27, she slashed her sword up, caught his hilt, twisted, and sent the lance flying out of his hand. It clattered against a tree and fell into the mud and loose leaves. 

Ferdinand von Aegir froze. He straightened his shoulders, and he stared. 

“Am I hired?”

A beat of silence. He parted his lips and whispered, “Are you willing to slit someone’s throat?”

She shrugged, "I think so, yes.”

A willing answer for a tired, homesick man. He ran a hand through his hair, and shut his eyes and sighed the deepest breath of relief that he could, from his head to his feet. She could fight, she moved with the grace of a swords-master. She could sneak into that room and start that wretched war his father and the other men wanted so badly, and he could go home. Ferdinand von Aegir could finally breathe once more. 

She would need to brush her hair. She would need better clothes. She would need work with her words. But he had no doubts in his abilities, this Byleth Eisner woman would surely be the person his father had been looking for. 

Relief flooded over him like waves on the shore. "Goddess, I might finally be able to go home. I just wonder... You _do_ grasp what my father is asking of you… right?”

Not in the least, though Byleth would never admit to that. “How can I grasp it if I don’t know the gruesome details?”

Ferdinand put a finger to his chin and stared at the trees over her shoulder in thought, “Yes, good point... But I still can’t tell you."

"You're terrible."

"I'm really not," he laughed, “I’ll send a letter to my father and his colleagues, they’ll be here in two weeks to see you. Don’t tell _anyone_ about this. And I suggest that you take this time to... think."

She always thought. She never _stopped_ thinking, it was a great source of exasperation for her. “About what? How I’ll spend the money? How my parents will never have to work again?"

Unamused, Ferdinand bristled, “About assassinating someone.”

"Oh, that."

Was she willing to slit someone's throat? The words sounded so foreign from his mouth, this man who spoke properly and carried himself as an absolute gentleman. He looked uncomfortable to even _think_ about the subject of slitting throats. Byleth mulled over his words after they parted. Ferdinand returned to the inn, while Byleth delivered the rest of her bread and jam in a daze. The gossip of the town - now with her name and the mysterious noble’s identity intertwined in excited whispers - was barely audible. Her mind dwelt and dug and sat on the idea. 10,000 gold to assassinate someone. 

She’d demand more money. At least 35,000 gold, that would be a much better deal. 

It was not as if Byleth had never taken a life, she was raised in that particular environment. It was rumored that the Blade-Breaker would carry his young daughter in a strap against his chest, and take her into battle on his horse. Byleth believed it, as even in her childhood innocence she was not shocked by the hardships of mercenary life. 

Sitri did not allow her to travel as extensively as her father, though Jeralt took the time to teach Byleth how to defend herself and her mother. If there was a bandit group near Remire then Jeralt would allow her to help in the battle. She’d taken lives, had her existential crisis over them, and moved on since. 

But to assassinate someone. That was different than driving a group of ruffians away from a village. Assassination was determined, malicious, _evil_. 

Ferdinand was kind enough to give her several weeks to decide, though she would have appreciated extra details to consider. It depended on who this person was, if they were evil, or innocent. The motives of this job would determine her willingness to take it, along with the pay. Mentally, she raised the price to 45,000, that was much more worth it. Her family could live off that. 

Torn, Byleth stumbled back to her cottage in the woods. The mile long walk was usually proved beautiful enough to distract her from her ever-racing thoughts. The sound of the bubbling creek was relaxing, the sun shining down through the leaves made shapes on the ground that no art could do justice for. She adored this area, this town, this cottage and forest. Yet, today her mind was entirely elsewhere. 

Another aspect of waiting several weeks to accept the job was speaking to her parents. What could she even tell them? _‘Oh hey, I’m off to kill someone so you guys can retire!’_

That wouldn’t work. 

Her mother worked on her garden as Byleth approached from the road. She knew Sitri would be upset at even the _thought_ of assassinating someone, her mother was famously soft-hearted. It was ironic that this gentle, loving woman married the most dangerous mercenary in all of Fodlan. Her light hums could be heard from the front of the house. 

Byleth set the empty basket down and walked to the side of the yard. She saw her father’s figure in the make-shift barn nearby, kneeling in front of their old cow. Chickens and geese ran by her legs as she approached her mother among the greenery. The late autumn corn was beginning to wilt, though it was still taller than Sitri. A basket of carrots and potatoes sat on the ground beside her. Byleth picked up the vegetables with a huff, “I’ll take this inside.”

“Oh,” Sitri sent her a distracted glance, “thank you, dear. Did you deliver everything?”

“I did.”

“Thank you,” she sat up and dusted the dirt from her hands, “I appreciate you.”

Those words were as common as the jokes about stabbing. ‘I appreciate you’, Sitri would say it anytime she could, and it was always genuine. Byleth could only wonder how this sincere woman managed to birth such a blunt and sarcastic daughter. It was like pulling teeth, to set down her pride that was so much like her father’s. Byleth wasn’t sure why it was so difficult to be affectionate, to show love and to return the kind gestures offered to her.

Sighing, she held the handle of the basket with both hands and looked at the sky, simply to have anywhere else to direct her gaze. “I appreciate you too, mother.”

Her lips burst into a smile that felt like warm pudding on a cold day, “You’re getting better!”

“Am I?” Byleth finally looked at her, “It’s still hard, you know. But I want to be like you and say what I feel. If I feel appreciative I want to say it as easily as you do.”

Sitri stood and pulled her dirt stained gloves away, stuffing them into the loose pocket of her apron, “It should be that way with everything, my love. You need to show when you’re angry, when you’re concerned… Like right now,” she poked the spot between Byleth’s eyebrows, “your brow is furrowed. You’re brooding like some angsty hero from a romance novel.”

This woman used to be a nun, she shouldn’t know anything about romance novels. This was the same mother who forced Jeralt and Byleth to attend church every Sunday. She huffed under her breath and turned away, “I’m fine. Just the usual Thursday nonsense.”

Her expression softened, “Did someone say something rude?”

“No… No, not at all. I was just so busy I didn’t get to hunt,” another heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, I don’t feel like very much help around here.”

All three in the family felt that way. Daily, Jeralt would beat himself mentally for allowing himself to be hurt, while Sitri worried over both his mental state and her daughter’s. On top of the concern, she did not sleep well, nor did she have the strongest body. She had been sick for ages, and while moving to the forest helped her constitution, her coughs and aches still racked her body daily. 

That left Byleth to do the hardest of work. Yet, hardly anyone wanted to hire a woman for the jobs that truly paid, and Sitri did not want her going too far away to battle bandits, not without an entire mercenary band behind her. She felt stuck, and did her best to hide it. 

Sitri always saw through her. There was no use in covering it up. Her mother's knowing smile said more than words ever could. 

Byleth had to rip it off like a bandage, “I was offered a job.”

Surprise flashed across Sitri's face. She tensed, lips parting with a sharp inhale of air, “You were? What was it?” Byleth did not usually bother informing her parents of her work, as they were usually unimportant. For Byleth to brood so heavily caught Sitri's every ounce of attention. 

Absently, Byleth fiddled with the handle of her basket. Her old dress hit the back of her legs as the breeze blew through her body. Another shiver, another hint at what was coming. The ground was wet and staining her black boots from the rain of the night before. Soon, the wild animals would disappear, and there would be nothing to forage. 

50,000 perhaps. That was an even better number, especially to kill someone for. 

“A nobleman came to town looking for a maid,” she faked a reassuring smile, “his father will be here in a few weeks to interview me.”

Another cold breeze. Sitri wrapped her hands around her arms as if she was holding herself together, seconds from falling apart. Her face was always pale, though it lacked absolute color now. She pursed her lips, and looked at the ground. Byleth allowed time to pass for her mother to gather her thoughts, she understood the intensity of her lies. But to say she was offered a job as a maid would be far better than the truth of the matter. 

“You’re an adult,” she finally whispered, “I can’t stop you from leaving. But I know how you are, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

She knew how she was. Byleth snorted, “Very cool?”

A sad smile and a tilt of her head. Her messy braid fell over her shoulder and brushed against her neck as she stared, “You’re stubborn, love. You’ve set your mind to helping your father and I, and you’ll do anything for that. I just want you to know…” a deep sigh as she closed her eyes, “You don’t have to go work far away somewhere just to help us. We’ll get by okay as things are.”

Many families in the poorer parts of Fodlan would send their children away to work for a noble house as a maid or guard. Oftentimes, Sitri would disparage the practice, though she knew the state of this world would not change so easily. People needed jobs, nobles created them, and as sad as it was, children were sent away to work. Byleth despised the way of this world as much as her mother did, but she found she could understand those who acted on such things. Not everybody’s father was the Blade-Breaker, and not everybody was so fortunate as her to have loving parents. 

Byleth was as lucky as a commoner could possibly be - besides the rare ones that married into nobility. Her father had brought in money, her mother was kind and nurturing. They had a home that stayed upright when it rained, and lived in an area with good climate and loose soil. They could live far better than others. Byleth heard of those in Faerghus with their frozen land and lack of resources. She _knew_ how fortunate she was. 

Nonetheless, she still didn’t have any money. Their cellar was empty of meat, the vegetable production would halt soon. The chickens would slow down in egg laying as winter approached. They could not live off the meager amount of milk their one elderly cow produced. Taxes were rising, and flour was expensive. 

Without this job, it might be an entire winter of only eating flat, unleavened bread. The thought of her mother’s health deteriorating from malnutrition struck a particular cord in her chest. 

Byleth set the basket down and took Sitri’s hands. Despite her years of hard work, they remained soft and gentle, a mother’s hands, the kind that ran through her hair in the best way possible. She leveled her with what she hoped was a reassuring gaze, “I want this. You always say father and I are prideful and stubborn, but I think it’s time you set down _your_ pride and allow me to help you.”

Sitri was not prone to outbursts. She took criticism like a saint, her expression softening and her lips parting in a sigh. She closed her eyes and rubbed her thumb across the back of Byleth’s hands, “Yes, you’re right. I just feel terrible about it. You won’t understand this feeling until you have children of your own.”

“I know.” She had a general idea of the concept of motherhood and the shame that came with not being able to take care of one's child, though Byleth didn’t particularly care about the semantics. If her mother and father needed help, she would help, and she wished every problem could be that simple, “But the pay is 10,000, mother. I can send it back here, and I might even ask for more.”

Her eyes opened, “What kind of maid is offered 10,000 gold?”

“I’ll be doing his dirty laundry, it’s only fair.”

Sitri grimaced and stepped back in mild horror, “You’re not going to be a prostitute, are you?”

“...What’s a prostitute?”

“Oh,” her laugh was as sweet as honeysuckle, “my sweet summer child, never change.”

Byleth wasn’t sure what _that_ meant either, but she deigned to ask. The subject was dropped until dinner that night, where they ate boiled potatoes and week old jerky, but they laughed. The Eisners could always find the humor in the hardships. 

“If you leave to work for some fancy brat,” Jeralt informed smartly, “you’ll miss all of _this_.”

‘This’ being the terrible jokes told over the dinner table. This being her mother’s laugh and her father’s shining eyes. She would miss far more than the jokes.

But it could not possibly take very long to assassinate someone, could it? 

The subject bounced back and forth through her mind. She lay in bed at night, wondering when Ferdinand’s father would visit and what he would say, if she would be teased with this absurd amount and refused at the last minute. Her father took it upon himself to discourage her, saying how terrible it would be to work for a noble house. Her mother would make comments at breakfast about how dearly needed Byleth was in her kitchen, how she could not possibly forage for cherries as well without Byleth to carry the basket for her weak arms.

The passive aggressive arguments were endless. Bess, the old cow, would simply _die_ of loneliness if Byleth left. The chickens would not have anyone to peck, what a tragedy. The vegetables would wilt from the lack of her beautiful voice. The flames in their fireplace would not shine as brightly without Byleth to start it in that exact way she did. And so on, and so forth. 

Nonsense, all of it. She ignored every snide comment from her parent’s mouths. 10,000, and she would ask for more. It would not take very long at all. She was efficient, quiet, and an effective markswoman. Just shoot her target in the neck and be done with it, that easy. _So_ easy. 

Her stomach hurt every time she thought of it. Her only reprieve was the fact that her parents could retire once it was over. Just one arrow, just a little sneaking around, just one murder. That was it. It wasn’t too bad. 

Every passive aggressive comment boiled down to one final, determined, argument from her side. She was an adult, and she could make her own decisions. 

* * *

Ferdinand von Aegir’s father and his company of wrinkled old men arrived in exactly 16 days from the date. They knocked on Byleth’s cottage door at 5:00 a.m, and demanded the most comfortable chairs in her home.

Unfortunately for the rich old men, there were no comfortable chairs in Byleth's home. Besides that fact, her kitchen was not nearly big enough to host the men and their guards. With Jeralt and Sitri still sleeping, she quietly moved her group of odd visitors to the barn - much to Lord Aegir’s chagrin. It was time to begin her chores anyway, and hay bales were far more comfortable than hard-wood chairs. 

“Do you really have to milk that thing while we’re speaking?”

Byleth sat on a stool beside Bess, the spotted cow that she’d basically grown up beside. She lowered her hands underneath her stomach and moved the bucket into place. Her hair fell into her eyes and over her shoulders in wild tangles, and she was sure she still had dried drool on her cheek. She knew her terrible appearance most likely insulted the old men, though that was what they would get for knocking on her door at the crack of dawn. 

Byleth began milking, “She gets antsy if I’m late.”

“W-Well at least look at me when you speak to me!”

She thought nobles didn’t _like_ being looked in the eye by her kind. If that was what he wanted, she would oblige. Slowly, she turned her head, her glare burrowing into his pale cheeks and milky eyes. 

This was Ferdinand von Aegir’s father. How could _this_ man have possibly created _that_ man? He had to get his looks from his mother.

Surrounding Lord Aegir were two middle aged lords flanking his left and right. He sniffed and lifted his chin, and spread his hands to gesture to his companions. “This is Count Varley, and Marquis Vestra. And I am,” a flippant gesture to his chest, “Ludwig von Aegir.”

There was no ‘nice to meet you’ or ‘its a pleasure to be here’. Byleth was entirely sure that it was _not_ a pleasure for them to be there in her makeshift barn while she milked a cow. Grunting, she turned her glare away and focused on her work, “Okay. And I’m-”

“Byleth Eisner," Count Varley tsked, "we are very aware.”

“Okay,” a patient sigh and a hidden roll of her eyes, “And I assume you three are here to interview me?”

She had never had a job interview before. Byleth usually knocked on someone’s door and asked if they wanted her to fix that hole in their roof, they said yes, and she got to work. She assumed that bigger cities and noble houses held interviews for their workers, though she’d never found herself in the position to try for that. Not before now. 

Huffing, she pulled the bucket out from under her cow and inspected the meager layer of milk at the bottom. They would need a new cow soon, yet another expense. She was sure Bes would not survive her labor, else they would just keep the calf. She was far too old to make it through this year. 

Count Varley eyed her like trash on the sidewalk. She ignored his stare and set the bucket on a shelf, where it would wait to be churned into butter. Sighing and sitting on a bale of hay, she finally returned the gaze of the old men. They flinched under her stare, despite having an entire battalion of guards surrounding the barn. 

Silence fell. Bess chewed on grass and flipped her tail. Marquis Vestra glared at anything and everything possible. 

“50,000 gold.”

“W-What?” Ludwig von Aegir took a step back and stumbled into his companions. He held his chest and gasped as they steadied his feet, “Are you even worth that?”

“Yes, very much so. You want someone killed and…” she shrugged, “my father is the Blade-Breaker. It’s what I grew up with, though not particularly in this type of circumstance.”

It was as if a bubble of tension popped. Gasps echoed through the men, a guard glanced at their meeting from the door of the barn. Huddled together like a sports team, they whispered amongst each other while Byleth watched. Varley sent her a suspicious glance, flinched at her glare, and returned to his whispering. 

‘Blade-Breaker’, she caught the name. Everybody knew it. Regret for her loose tongue began to settle into her stomach as she realized just how powerful that name was. 

With a clearing of his throat and a lifted chin in high arrogance, Ludwig von Aegir shifted his weight to appraise her once more. His eyes raked from her muddy boots to her thin nightdress and the ragged shawl that covered her shoulders. Her hair was loose and choppy around her face, tangled at the back of her neck. Byleth’s glare fell as she squirmed under his stare. 

He smiled as if he enjoyed torturing her like a worm on the end of a hook. “The Blade-Breaker was our first choice, actually. Terribly sorry about what happened.”

She shrugged and avoided his eyes, “Yes well, I don’t think you’d have much luck there. He wouldn’t take an assassination job.”

“That’s a surprise. I would very willingly offer him 50,000.”

“I’m just as good,” she returned his uncomfortable stare, “and much more stealthy. My father’s a bull in a china shop.”

There was another wave of whispers over the three men. They leaned into each other, sending her glances and suspicious eyes. The tension grew higher and thicker as she awaited their answer - because they _had_ to know she was right. The Blade-Breaker was not known for his stealth. He was known for his aggressive fighting style, and his ruthless mercenary band. He'd never been a quiet fighter. 

Ludwig sighed and backed away from his companions with a wave of his hand. At the gesture, they both straightened and leveled her once more with heavy glares. Byleth attempted to ignore them as Ludwig appraised her once more. “My son told me you had beaten him.”

“It wasn’t that hard, but yes, I did.”

“And you are beautiful in a…” another uncomfortable rake of his eyes down her body, “wild forest fairy kind of way, I suppose.”

Oddly enough, Byleth found herself touched. She straightened her shoulders and put a hand to her chest, “Oh, thank yo-”

“No, no I take that back. You’re more of a cute country bumpkin with potential. Like a… like a maid you’d take in the corner when your wife’s back is turned. We’ve all been there.”

_She_ had not been there, she’d never even been within miles of there. Horrified, she stiffened, “And to think I was almost flattered by you.”

“That’s your mistake, anyway,” he cleared his throat and crossed his arms, “You have potential, I think. Correct?”

Old man #1 and old man #2 nodded along. Their eyes joined Lord Aegir’s in raking down her body. She finally knew how it felt to be a piece of meat for sale in the marketplace. The feeling sent a shiver of disgust down her spine, though she crossed her arms over her chest to hide the insecurities blooming in her stomach. 

“But,” he put up a pale hand, “how can we know you can fight?”

She had beaten Ferdinand, twice in fact. She had even beaten her father several times. She spent her free time training with her sword, and lived day to day by the bow. To trained eyes, it would have been obvious that she moved with the body of a swordsmaster. Yet, this man looked as if he had never lifted anything besides a quill. 

Action and demonstration were the best possible arguments, that’s what Jeralt had always taught her. 

She leaned down and slipped a hand into her boot. Strapped to her ankle was the pocket-knife she kept for emergencies, like having to cut a pie, or stabbing an attacker - which were very similar circumstances. Standing from her hay bale, she eyed a spot past the men’s shoulders. 

“I’m going to hit that notch in the wood,” she pointed, and they turned to follow her finger, “imagine it’s my targets neck, if that’s how you want it done. And please, don’t move.”

Don’t move, she warned them for a reason. Stiffened by the ominous command, all three men froze into place. If they moved even an inch, the knife would enter their own neck, and she would miss. Byleth did not enjoy missing. 

Attempting to look casual, despite the nervous bubbling in her stomach and chest, she reared back, closed one eye, took a deep breath. And she threw the knife. 

Ludwig von Aegir seemed to have never been that close to a weapon before. It flew past his nose, a split second flash of shined steel passing only centimeters from his face. He gasped and jerked away, stumbling backwards into Count Varley. Frantic, he patted his face for signs of injury. The knife had not even touched his skin, but he could feel the cold breeze of the weapon as it flew by. With his heart racing in his ears, he looked at the spot Byleth had pointed to. 

A perfect mark. Imagine it was the target’s neck - he would be dead in half a second from that blow. 

Byleth shifted awkwardly in place and cleared her throat, “So, uh, I can do that with a bow and arrow as well. And I can defend myself by sword if needed.”

She had _more_ than potential. She had the skill needed. Ferdinand had not found any other woman in Adrestia this talented. Before his eyes, Byleth Eisner’s use began to bloom like a summer flower under the sun. 

Round cheeks, large doe eyes, and pink lips. If she washed more and brushed her hair, and perhaps stood up straight, she could easily blend in with the nobility. With each passing second of stunned silence, Ludwig began to imagine it. Byleth Eisner, daughter of the Blade-Breaker, would be his assassin. 

It was time to spit it out and get it over with. 

“I’ll pay you 50,000 up front.”

She gasped and jumped, “Up front? Goddess, that would solve everything, t-thank you so much!”

“But,” he held up a hand. Count Varley and Marquis Vestra stiffened at his sides and watched the girl before them, eyes suspicious and mouths set into thin lines. This was the moment they had to be the most cautious, the most on-guard. One wrong move and this girl could ruin every plan they had - then they’d have to kill her, which would be a terrible shame. Ludwig took a deep breath before going on, “this is no normal assassination.”

“I… don’t think any assassination is really normal-”

“Quiet, girl.” Count Varley snapped, “This is far beyond your understanding.”

Byleth understood many things, most likely far more than this frail man. She turned her glare on him, and reveled in the sight of him flinching under her eyes once more. “Fine, but I’m sure it’ll be no problem.”

What was the worst it could be? There was nothing much she could imagine these nobles wanting, except for perhaps more power. It was most likely some upstart minor lord that was a thorn in their backs, and she could handle that, as gruesome as the thought was. 

To be an assassin. To kill for money. 50,000 gold and the thought of her parent’s retirement replayed in her mind like a sweet melody.

“How far North have you been, Miss Eisner?”

She blinked in confusion at the question. Marquis Vestra asked it so out of the blue, from left field entirely. “Garreg Mach, I believe. So not very far at all. Why?”

Count Varley and Marquis Vestra shared a conspiratory smile over Ludwig’s head. “Do you know what’s going on in Faerghus?”

Not in the least. Her father’s side of the family was from Faerghus, the Eastern part where the mountains were said to scrape the sky. Sitri’s family was unknown, as she was an orphan at Garreg Mach since infancy. Byleth had never felt much loyalty to any particular country, though Faerghus held a sort of curiosity as part of her father’s ancestry. Unfortunately, she had never been, and most likely would not ever visit. She preferred sunshine. “I’m sorry, no I don’t.”

Another sly grin. Ludwig von Aegir faked a pitiful look, “Oh my dear, it’s absolute chaos up there. They’re savages, you know.”

Jeralt had always described _his_ father, her grandfather, as a brutish mountain man, living in solitude in the caves and alcoves of the frozen country. Byleth had never given thought to the type of people in the North besides her own lost kin. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

“The King, my dear,” Ludwig whispered dramatically, “He hordes all of the taxpayer’s money for himself.”

Count Varley interjected with a gasp, “He holds feasts while his people starve! He executes innocents nearly every day! He’s a tyrant!”

The King. The King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. It did not sound like a very holy place to her. The sound of their words replayed in her mind, “I… So, you want me to kill the King? I don’t know if I’m _that_ good.”

“Oh, no no no,” Marquis Vestra laughed as if she was slow of learning, “We just want you to pose as a noblewoman-”

“My daughter,” Ludwig informed, “my sweet little daughter who I’ve hidden from the world.”

“-and then you’ll infiltrate the castle.”

Byleth was not following as well as the three old men would’ve preferred. The sun was growing brighter outside, and her parents had to be waking up by then. To find their daughter gone, and their barn guarded by a battalion of soldiers, it would not be a pleasant morning. She sighed and bounced her knee anxiously, “How am I supposed to infiltrate the castle?”

Ludwig laughed, “You’ll court the prince, of course!”

Court the prince. To _court_ a _literal prince._ This was officially too high over her head. “A-And then what? Kill the King?”

“No, no, we want the King to live so he can pay for his sins, of course.” Of course, of course, because that was what normal nobles did in their free-time, planned the murder of royalty, “you’ll gather information about the Kingdom and their secrets for us, then you’ll assassinate the target.”

Every passing second got worse. Every word grew more and more rotten to her ears. She felt like vomiting, like laying down and sleeping for 10 hours. To infiltrate the royal family and learn their secrets, to assassinate someone. 50,000 gold, though, the possibilities whispered in the back of her mind. 

Byleth Eisner had never been more torn. 

“Who would be my target?”

Ludwig grinned even more, “The prince! Once you’re done with him, kill him! And then… we’ll take the rest from there!”

“But if the King is the tyrant who’s done terrible things,” she narrowed her eyes in thought, “then why kill the prince? Would it not be simpler to kill the King?”

“You’ve obviously never killed a King before,” Count Varley snorted casually, “that’s okay, though, here’s your opportunity to get some experience! Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd would be too risky to go after, but if you court and seduce his son, then the boy is bound to let his guard down around you, correct?”

She took a steady breath, “I-I don’t know, I’ve never even flirted with a man.”

“That’s why you have to be beautiful, just show some cleavage and the rest will fall into place.”

“I don’t really think that’s how it works.”

“How would _you_ know? You’ve never even flirted with a man.”

He had a point. 

“So tell me,” Byleth leveled the lords with a flat gaze, “what use would assassinating the prince be?”

The answer was immediate, and as terrible as she imagined. “In his grief, the King will be easier to defeat by our forces. And then, well, the people of Faerghus are free from his tyranny. Everybody wins.”

“Except for the people who are killed,” Byleth chirped, “and the assassin, you know. I imagine that whoever kills the prince won’t get away so easily.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine!”

The nerve of this man. There was hardly an attempt to conceal his motives, his reasoning for hiring an unknown commoner girl for this job. He did not think her life mattered, it could be sacrificed for whatever mysterious goal he desired, and he would not lose any sleep over it. “Yes, yes I _will_ be fine,” she laughed and picked her milk bucket up from the shelf, turning to leave the barn and the conversation behind, “Because I’m not doing it. Find some other poor soul to do your dirty work.”

As quickly as her feet would allow, Byleth retreated past the battalion of guards around the barn. She expected a fight. She expected an argument, to be yelled at, or even possibly attacked. With the knowledge of an assassination attempt on royalty, she could almost see the visible target on her back. Yet, it was silent. She glanced over her shoulder and found Ludwig staring at her from the entrance of the barn, his expression unreadable. 

He was staring. A soldier stood behind him with his lance unsheathed. Byleth knew she could defeat this man and every soldier he had, but it was not weapons that he fought with. It was his quill, his words, his voice that could spread across the land like feathers in the wind. 

“A lot of people want your father dead.”

With her hand on the doorknob, she froze. His threat sank into her body like the cold drizzle of a rain. Her fingers tightened on the doorknob and she listened to the sound of her heart beating in her chest. A lot of people _do_ want her father dead, he was correct. 

And she was a fool with a loose tongue. 

Ludwig von Aegir sighed as if he was in pain, condescending and dramatic. “It would be a shame if the location of the Blade-Breaker was revealed to the public. Just one letter... one posting in the paper... one rumor. There are many criminals who desire revenge on him."

And he could not defend himself as well. He could not move without intense pain shooting up his stomach and back. 

"What're you saying?"

"I'm saying that he'll be safe if you take the job."

Kill a prince, possibly sacrifice her identity and life in the process. Take the biggest risk she'd ever considered. With her heart racing in her ears, she slammed the door of the cottage behind her. Through the window, she watched as Ludwig sighed, watched her figure through the glass, and began leaving the barn. The guards and the noblemen retreated alongside him with grim expressions. Once they rounded the corner of the cottage and reached the road, they were out of sight, and Byleth nearly caved into her anxiety. She _wished_ she could be relieved. She wished her head would stop swimming and let her think just for one moment. 

Byleth dropped into a kitchen chair and buried her face into her hands. She could not believe she had even _considered_ the thought of assassinating someone. She was a fool to not have known that a nobleman would reach for the heavens. He wanted to hire some unknown country bumpkin to do his dirty laundry and take the blame of a political assassination. And _of_ _course_ he would blackmail her.

Jeralt could not possibly fight off the hundreds of criminals that wanted him dead. 

They could burn their cottage down. They could break in at night and hurt her mother. Byleth could wake up one morning as an orphan, all due to her loose tongue and desperation. Suddenly, winter did not feel like the biggest threat. 

Her family might die because of her idiocy. She groaned into her hands and pulled at her hair. Regret filled every inch of her body as she thought of the conversation with the nobles. And all it took to stop this was to kill the prince. Just kill the prince. Treat him like an evil bandit leader and put an arrow through his chest.

Fine, just fine. That was _fine_. 

And his family was evil as well, it seemed. She knew that the people of Faerghus endured hardships, but to starve while the royalty ate their fill, the very thought made her boil with anger. No human had the right to that much money, food and privilege, to keep that from the people they were tasked to protect _was_ evil. She paused in her chair and lifted her head, eyes wide, mind rolling in a hurricane of constant thought. Would it really be so wrong to kill an evil man? One life taken, so thousands could live?

That's what her father did. He fought to protect innocent people, even if it meant taking a life.

Byleth jumped out of her chair in an instant. Thoughts of her father’s face twisted in pain soared through her mind. He could not defend himself against attackers any longer. They needed this money, they needed safety, they needed their seclusion. If the location of the famous mercenary captain was revealed, Byleth could not even imagine the backlash. They could move, but they had no money. They could camp out in the woods, but her mother was sickly, and that life would be far more difficult than the one they lived now.

50,000 gold, they both could retire, and never have to worry again. 

She knew what she must do. Out the door and down the dirt road, Byleth ran. She let her feet carry her against the cold breeze of late autumn. Dust kicked up in clouds behind her steps as she pushed her body towards the retreating group of soldiers ahead. Their bodies froze and turned as she approached through the morning fog. 

Ludwig von Aegir did not look surprised to see her. 

“Change your mind?”

Byleth knelt over with her hands on her knees, chest heaving with anxiety, “Y-Yes. I need you to promise something, though,” she raised her head to meet his eyes, “ _do_ _not_ betray my father’s location. Keep guards here in Remire, and make sure my family is safe.”

“Deal.”

“And I will hold you to your promise of gold upfront.”

“That’s fine as well.”

“And will you help me if I am in danger?”

“Sure.”

Byleth wanted to vomit. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, every beat of her heart pounding in her ears like a drum. Groaning, she finally clenched her fists, and sent the Lord a nod. 

“Then I’ll kill the prince of Faerghus for you.”


	2. Protea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protea, the flower of diversity and shape shifting.  
> Meaning: Transformation

Sitri would not stop crying. Like most things in Byleth’s life, it was terribly inconvenient. 

“Mother, I appreciate your display of emotion, but,” the shoulder of her dress was beginning to soak through with salty tears, “really, I’ll be back in under a year. This is only temporary.”

The reassurance was meant to console the upset woman, though Byleth had never been talented at giving comfort. Sitri’s fingers dug deeper into her daughter’s arms as her cry grew to a steady howl. She did not sound dissimilar to an injured cat. 

“Now you know how _I_ feel,” Jeralt leveled his daughter with a grimace. A look of understanding passed between the two - Sitri did this to _him_ every time he left for a mission. Byleth had no mercy for him in the past, until she finally found herself on the receiving end of the tears, the howls, and the nails of Sitri Eisner digging into every inch of available skin. 

Byleth racked her brain to solve the conundrum of the sobbing woman. Perhaps a soft pat on the back would help her. She applied one, very generously - yet Sitri only dug her face further into her neck. Once again, Byleth offered a pat on the back, and slowly reached her other arm up to wrap around her body and pull her closer.

Like a baby held by it’s mother, Sitri began to quiet down into an eventual soft hiccup. Ferdinand and his father watched with a mixture of curiosity and horror. Ludwig seemed to be questioning the sanity of this woman, though that happened to be the exact line of thought Byleth was on as well. Ferdinand, simply, watched in horrific curiosity, as if he’d never seen something of it’s kind before. 

“Honey,” Jeralt whispered under the hiccups of his wife, “she’s got to go eventually.”

The sweet former nun of the past had disappeared. She was replaced by a wet faced, messy haired monster of a matriarch. She pulled back from Byleth and sent a withering glare to her husband. Her voice was a hiss, a shadow of her usual sweetly-flavored tones. “Yes, but _I_ will decide when it’s eventually time.”

Every man in a mile’s radius flinched, Byleth was sure of it. Ferdinand and Ludwig tried their best to avoid her eyes. 

Byleth’s departure was on extremely short notice. It was the next day after her agreement to kill the prince of Faerghus, though Ferdinand assured her that there was no need to pack her bags. Dresses would be provided and made for her once they arrived in Aegir territory. The thought of being provided new clothes was _almost_ exciting, if she were not to wear them as an assassin. The murder aspect of it all tended to kill any joyous thought Byleth dared to have. 

Ferdinand and his father waited for her in their carriage, followed by their battalion. Count Varley and Marquis Vestra left on their own with the excuse of not wanting to travel with the commoner - in case anyone saw them and became suspicious. Byleth was not looking forward to the journey to the Aegir territory in the East with the two men, though she knew there was even more torture to come. 

Sighing, she rested her hands on Sitri’s shoulders and steadied her in place. Locking their gazes, she attempted to offer a kind smile, “Mother, I’ll be okay, really. I’ll write to you every week.”

The dam broke once more. Byleth watched as it cracked behind her eyes. Sitri’s lip quivered, and she tensed, once again burying her face into her daughter’s chest. A chorus of groans passed through Jeralt and the von Aegir men at the show of dramatics. 

Now, Byleth was the one sending glares. If her mother needed a moment, then she could have that moment for as long as she wished. Byleth found _herself_ needing a moment as well, as she was about to begin carrying out the most dangerous job she’d ever taken. Or ever _would_ take, hopefully.

Courting a prince, learning the secrets of his family, and then killing him. She wasn’t sure what was scarier: killing, or the courting. Both were enough to send shivers of horror down her spine. 

Sitri finally pulled back with red eyes and watery cheeks. She huffed and hiccuped and shut her eyes as if she could simply shut out the reality of this situation - her daughter was leaving, finally, she never thought it would happen. Byleth was such a homebody that she imagined she’d _always_ be around. But it had to happen at some point, she knew every baby bird must leave the nest, though the birds in the trees seemed far less heartbroken about it. “If you were a more annoying child then I’d be happier to see you go.”

Byleth grimaced, “Sorry about that. If I knew that was what you wanted I would’ve tried harder.”

Her mother had a stronger grip than she realized, or perhaps the sheer maternal emotions gave her enough energy to squeeze the life out of Byleth. She pulled her against her chest and buried her nose into her hair once more, “Just remember what I showed you last night.”

Sitri could not take _all_ of the credit for last night, Jeralt helped a great deal. Byleth awoke her parents with the news of her acceptance of the job - she was very vague about the payment, so as to not raise suspicion - and Sitri had been upset ever since. She had accepted it, though acceptance and complacency did not stop the tears from flowing. She insisted on spending hours with Byleth to teach her self defense, and how to react if she was touched inappropriately. 

Jeralt helped. He was far more worried than he let on, it was almost heartwarming. “I know, mother,” Byleth reassured with a soft stroke of her hair, “If a man comes even within a mile of me then I’ll scream my lungs out and punch him in the throat.”

Her father perked up, “And the groin, with your elbow, preferably. And always carry a poisoned dagger.”

“Isn’t a _poisoned_ dagger a bit of an overkill?”

“Not at all, kid, if a man touches you then it’s for his own good.”

“Right,” she grimaced, “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

As careful as she possibly could be when attempting to assassinate royalty. The thought kept replaying in her mind, over and over like waves on the beach shore. Killing this man, who’s father was evil, was good for the people. And she liked what was good for the people, especially if those people were her parents. 

Sitri pulled away, and Byleth watched the dark circles under her eyes. She was pale, exhausted. Softly, she put a hand on her mother’s cheek, “I’m going to send money every month, please don’t work so hard anymore.”

Jeralt approached her side and wrapped his arms around his wife and daughter. It was a rare show of affection from the patriarch of the Eisner family, but it was fitting for this moment. Byleth had never left on a journey for this long before, for something so mysterious and unknown. It felt like the calm before a heavy storm. 

He buried his nose into Byleth’s hair and gave a hidden smile, “You don’t have to do this, kid. You know that, right?”

“I know that. I want to do it.” Please believe me, she begged internally, please don’t think too hard about the shake of my knees and the frown on my face. 

Quite obnoxiously, Ludwig von Aegir cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. He tabbed the end of his walking stick on the side of the carriage and glared at the Eisner family, “Come on, we’re burning daylight here!”

Ferdinand lectured his father in hushed whispers. His cheeks pinkened as if he was embarrassed at the sheer rudeness. Byleth ignored the nobility, while Jeralt and Sitri wrapped their arms around each other and stepped away. Sitri forced a smile, while Jeralt rubbed at a possible tear in the corner of his eye. 

It was the moment. Byleth would finally leave home. How _quickly_ and _fearfully_ her heart raced at the idea of what lie ahead. 

“It won’t be for long,” she bowed her head in respect, “I promise you, I’ll come home safe to you both.”

“You’ll be grounded if you don’t.” Jeralt quipped. 

She wouldn’t put it past him to ground her ghost, put a cage around her grave and prohibit her spirit from leaving until he decided to lift the restrictions. He was that kind of father, so overbearingly tough that it was loving, somehow, in some way. Byleth would miss his voice during her time away. 

She could stay in that spot in front of the cabin, smiling at her parents, forever if allowed. She took in the surrounding forest, the sound of the river rushing through the trees, and the morning-glory vines crawling up the side of the cabin. With a sigh, she let the nostalgia consume her, painting the scene of her childhood home on her memory as best as she possibly could. 

“I will come back,” another out loud reassurance, spoken with the confidence of someone about to kill a prince - which was not very confident at all. “I promise you, really. Don’t throw my things out yet.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love,” Sitri brushed the back of her hand against Byleth’s cheek, “just be careful, that is all I ask.”

With the constant requests for her safety, Byleth almost felt as if her parents knew what she was doing. There was no way they could, the battalion guarding the barn yesterday would not have let anyone close enough to overhear her conversation with her employer. Byleth had not given any hints either, as Sitri would surely lock her up in the basement for even _considering_ such an act. Her parents could not know, they were just being normal parents, worried for their daughter on her first job away from home. 

“Being a maid could not possibly be that dangerous,” she offered a humorless laugh, “but if it does turn out to threaten my life, I’ll always have a dagger on me.”

It felt nice to tell the truth among all of the lies. Byleth _would_ always have a dagger on her person, though that was for a much different reason than simple self defense. 

Behind her, once more, Ludwig cleared his throat and tsked his tongue. Ferdinand burst into another frantically whispered lecture about the proprieties of waiting for a lady to finish her conversation. But it was time to go, and Byleth knew she must tear herself away. 

It was like pulling out hair, to give her mother and father one last hug, and to retreat from their hands. To leave the warmth and safety of their arms felt like a part of her soul was left behind in that small space between them. “I love you both. D-Don’t work so hard anymore,” she rubbed her neck bashfully, trying to find the right words to encompass the hurricane of emotion in her chest and stomach, “I’ll be sending money every month, and letters every week. So please just don’t get hurt or sick or… I don’t know, don’t die, please?”

Sitri laughed. Jeralt mirrored her nostalgic grin, “We’ll try our best. You too, By.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged and took a step towards the carriage, “I’ll try my best too.”

Another yank of the bandage, and finally it was ripped off. She turned around and climbed into the seat beside Ferdinand, who sent her an excited smile and a shake of his shoulders. Across from her, Ludwig rolled his eyes impatiently and reached over to close the door to the carriage. 

Before they were shut out from her world, she leaned out the window and waved. At the head of the carriage the horses were whipped and startled into action. Hooves beat against the ground and Byleth’s body lurched forward. She held onto the edge of the window and waved frantically to her crying mother and melancholy father on the side of the road. 

“I love you! I promise I’ll be back soon!”

She did not hear what her mother said, not above the sound of the horses and the monotone complaints of Ludwig. Sitri stretched out a hand, and Byleth kept the image in her mind until the dust of the road covered her form entirely. 

It was happening. She was leaving home for the first time. 

With the heaviest of sighs, she sat back into her seat and huffed. Ludwig muttered to himself as he tuned his pocket watch, perfectly content to ignore his adoptive commoner in the seat across from him. Next to her, Ferdinand gleamed like the sun itself. 

“I’ve never had a sister before,” unexpectedly, he took her hands and held them between their bodies, “I am so very excited.”

It explained his grin and pink cheeks. Byleth sent him a flat gaze and pulled her hands back, “It’s only for pretend, don’t start getting chummy.”

“No,” Ludwig deigned to look up from his pocketwatch, “please _do_ get chummy, it’s part of your backstory.”

The carriage rattled over the road. It had only been a minute of travel, and Byleth was already nauseous with anxiety for the journey ahead. “Backstory?”

“Backstory,” he nodded and hummed, “you’re my daughter. You were sheltered, with only your big brother for company. You love him dearly.”

The big brother in question giggled. Byleth had never heard a man _giggle_ before. He squeezed her hands and grinned, “As expected, because I am truly the best older brother a girl could ever ask for.”

It was unfortunate for Ferdinand von Aegir that Byleth had never asked for an older brother in the first place. She much preferred being an only child, soaking up the love and affection of her parents all for herself. Ferdinand seemed to be an only child as well, just with the opposite reaction to sibling-hood than her. 

Judging by the kind of man Ludwig von Aegir seemed to be, she did not blame him. He most likely did not get affection from anywhere else, it would explain the mixture of horror and confusion on his face at the sight of Sitri squeezing the life out of her daughter. Byleth smiled at the thought, “And how do I benefit from your older brother-ness? Are you friends with the prince, or something? Are you going to introduce me as incredibly charming, help me out a bit? Hm?”

“Oh, no. I’ve only spoken to prince Dimitri about three times.” He gave a casual laugh, “And that was five years ago at the Officer’s Academy.”

Byleth froze. The carriage rocked over another series of bumps as she stared at her feet in shock. Ferdinand squeezed her hands even more tightly and tilted his head, “Miss Byleth?”

With wide eyes, she looked up, “How the hell do I seduce him, then?”

“...I’m afraid I don’t understand the problem…”

“If you aren’t even his friend then who will introduce us?” She gasped and yanked her hands away from his, “I can’t just go up to him and ask him to divulge all of his secrets, can I? I’ll… I’ll have to make a scheme… spill wine on him, or something.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes and pocketed his watch into his jacket. Irritable, he leveled her with a flat glare, “That can be plan B, I’ve already figured out plan A.”

“And that is?”

He raised a hand to his chest and made a cupping motion, “Cleavage.”

“Father please!” Ferdinand nearly screeched, “That is not okay!”

Byleth put a calming hand on his shoulder, “No, no, it might work.”

“No it won’t! Are you two daft? Goddess,” he hunched over himself and ran his hands through his hair, groaning, “that won’t work for the likes of the prince. Father,” he looked up, “just let me take care of it, please?”

Ludwig offered his quiet agreement, while Byleth froze. “Take care of what? Do you even know what he likes?”

It was common for rumors of Garreg Mach and the Officers Academy to circulate through smaller towns such as Remire. Byleth had never cared much for the news of the Academy, and why should she? The ins and outs of the nobility mattered very little to her immediate life. She never gave thought to any royal families, especially the far Northern ones. To think that she would attempt to seduce him, to learn his secrets - Byleth had never even seduced a shovel. 

Ferdinand, though, seemed to come from a different world entirely. The hair, the smooth skin and perfectly fitting clothes. He smiled at her as if she should be honored he shined his personal sun upon her. “We’ve spoken a few times, but we were in utterly different classes, of course.”

Of course. She nodded, “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well,” Ferdinand grinned, “I _do_ remember Dimitri being a kind and sincere individual, so father and I,” an expectant glance cast towards Ludwig, “have set up some charities that you, Lady Byleth von Aegir, have spearheaded!”

Charities. The most charitable Byleth had ever been was listening to the old women’s gossip in Remire. “What kind of charities?”

“Oh, Chicken for Children, for starters. And of course you began the illustrious Opera for Asthmatics club.”

“...Opera for Asthmatics?”

“Which was not even close to the popularity and generosity of Pen Pals with Ponies.”

He could not be serious. This man who had the best education in Fodlan could _not_ be saying these words to her. He had to be joking. Byleth offered a polite smile, “So I approach the prince as a philanthropist? And then what?”

Ludwig hovered a casual hand to his chest, “Cleavage!”

“Father, no! No,” Ferdinand gasped, “she charms him!”

“Do I have to kiss him?”

“If… Well,” he sighed and glanced out the window, brows furrowed. He was torn, pulled apart by the differing opinions of his father, and his moral code. He sent a glance to Byleth, offering the most hesitant of smiles, “Don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Ludwig intervened with a frantic wave of his hand, “But remember, do anything it takes!”

“Those are two contradictory statements.”

“Oh, contradictory!” Ferdinand gasped, “What a big word! Keep that up!”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Now that’s very rude-“

Ludwig tsked, “It’s true.”

“Father!”

She had been trying to find the moment to interrupt, to get the conversation back to the subject at hand. The prince, his subsequent seduction, and what that meant for her. If it involved more big words then she would be perfect for the job, Sitri adored big words and taught every one she knew to her daughter. “So how will you prepare me? And most importantly, when do I get the money?”

Worry ate at her stomach like an old, acidic tomato. Ludwig had promised to pay her upfront, but she was not confident in her ability to seduce and learn the secrets of a prince. Ferdinand and his father seemed to put confidence in her, for some unfortunate reason she’d never understand. 

“We can send your family the money,” the senior von Aegir gave her a withering look, “if you like. Of course you’ll still have correspondence with them if you don’t trust my ample generosity.”

So full of himself, just like his son. Byleth’s gaze flattened, “What if the prince doesn’t like me? Do I not get paid?”

The air between them filled with the bumps and jolts of the road under the carriage, the beat of horse hooves and the conversational mutters of the guards and driver. Casually, Ludwig returned his attention to anything besides Byleth. 

Another acidic, rotten feeling in her stomach. She recognized it as anxiety, something reacting to the unknown. “Well I suppose your silence says it all. I have to admit,” she grimaced, “there’s a big chance he won’t like me, not many men have.”

“Well,” Ludwig turned his nose up at her, “even if he doesn’t like you, you can still assassinate him. We would just greatly prefer knowing his secrets.”

She raised a brow, “What secrets do you believe he has?”

“How they have money,” he waved a nonchalant hand, “how his father has been extorting taxes, the damage his family has done to the people. Normal things, you know. And it would be wonderful, as well, to learn where the Blaiddyd family keeps their relics and treasures.”

She’d heard nothing of extortion and damage, but she had never even been to Faerghus. If anybody knew about such going-ons, it would be the Prime Minister. “So it would help the people if we free them from this family?”

Ferdinand had said the prince was sincere and kind at the Officer’s Academy, though Ferdinand did not seem keen to say anything negative about other nobility. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he shifted uncomfortably in place and tapped his fingers on his legs. He frowned at the passing scenery out the window. 

Ludwig took no notice of his son. He sent Byleth a smile that was meant to be reassuring, “Of course! You’re doing a wonderful thing for an entire country of people!”

Was the sincere man Ferdinand mentioned a front, then? Byleth did not enjoy the thought of seducing someone who took advantage of his citizens, but it was as Lord Aegir said: This would help the country, and most importantly, her parents. 

That left her final unanswered question. Glancing at Ferdinand, she forced a smile, “So what are you going to prepare me for?"

His discomfort melted away with the change of subject. “In a month is the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus founding day, the Blaiddyds are holding a ball and inviting every noble family in Fodlan. It will take nearly a month for us to even travel up there,” the dreadful tone of his voice only remained for half a second, before he picked himself up and smiled, “But I, Ferdinand von Aegir, can do anything I set my mind to!”

“And that anything is…?”

A proud smile, an amused scoff from Ludwig, and Ferdinand nearly yelled in his excitement, “Making you into a proper noblewoman!” 

A proper noblewoman. 

“A proper noblewoman?”

“The most proper the world has ever seen, Byleth von Aegir!”

What a joy. 

* * *

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was a young man when he learned one of the most vitally important lessons a prince could ever learn. This lesson was learned at the tender age of 10 years, taught by his step mother, and exemplified in the ruining of a five tier chocolate cake that was lovingly baked by the best dessert chef in Fhirdiad.

As he stared at the remnants of the five tier chocolate cake on the dining room floor, while his step mother sobbed in the distance, and his uncle Rufus broke yet another whiskey glass, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd had the first taste of what it truly meant to be a prince. He learned the lesson. 

It is this, and only this: Parties are terrible, the stress will cause the Queen to knock over desserts, and Rufus will take to drinking and subsequent shattering of various glasses. 

If his father was disturbed by the turn of events, he did not show it. 

From then on, Dimitri _insisted_ upon having extremely simple birthday parties, with a minimum of 10 people. The exception to this rule were diplomatic balls - which were stuffy and boring by necessity - and the annual Faerghus Founding Day Festivities (Patricia adored the alliteration.)

Chocolate cake was not served at either of those occasions. Patricia did _not_ adore chocolate cake, for some obscene reason unbeknownst to anyone in her family. 

The moral of the lesson is that parties are stressful, and he does not enjoy them. Lambert, his father, had managed to keep a cool head when hosting festivities in the past, and had the same ideals and expectations for his son. 

Yet, the one aspect of the situation that Lambert did _not_ take into consideration was this simple fact: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, aged 23 years, was a walking cocktail mix of insecurity and self-doubt. It was not even the good kind of cocktail mix, it was the kind that made it's drinker throw up in the garden and have a headache for three days straight. There was nothing enjoyable about the specific kind of mix Dimitri happened to be. 

Lambert's counter argument was that insecurity and self doubt were not at all very different flaws from the rest of their family's. Patricia’s bouts of melancholy dramaticism, or Rufus’s tendency towards alcohol dependency, or Edelgard’s - Dimitri’s step sister - propensity for cold hearted political discourse. Except for the fact that 1. They were all extremely different and 2. _Dimitri_ was the one planning the festivities, not anyone else. He supposed that out of their lovely family, he was the second best choice for hosting if one must choose between them all. Lambert was passing the torch down to him, attempting to prepare his only son for the responsibility of managing nearly every noble family in Fodlan. 

Dimitri did not want this torch. To reiterate, parties made everybody in his family more eccentric and stressed than usual. It was not pleasant for anybody involved. 

“Father, are you sure you want me to plan this?”

The look on Lambert’s face answered the question. “Of course! If you can’t run a party, then you can’t run a country.”

He tensed, with the power of his crest rushing through his veins. In the snap of a second, the quill in his hand broke in two, and splattered across the parchment, covering the seating list in a thick layer of black. He huffed under his breath and wiped at the spot with a napkin as Lambert watched. The seating arrangement was one of the most important aspects of the party, it was three hours of work undone in an instant. He cursed his lack of restraint, “Ill have to restart again… Father, really,” he ran a hand through his hair, “how is planning a party like running a country?”

Slowly, Lambert leaned over the desk and confiscated the broken quill, “Well, there’s the challenge of making everybody happy, and providing food and drink to everyone. Besides that,” he pulled a new quill from the drawer and grinned, “there’s the handling of drunk people.”

“I’d have to handle drunkards as King?”

“Everyday, my boy. I’ll get you a new paper.”

Dimitri sat in his fathers office, in his leather seat. The windows behind him illuminated the parchment covered desk and lit the book shelves on the walls with color. This seat and desk were different from the throne, it was one of the only places in Fhirdiad were Lambert could be Lambert, his father, rather than His Majesty. 

Dimitri didn’t know what he’d do when he took that title. It could be years, it could be tomorrow. The anxiety sat in his stomach like a threat. 

Lambert set the fresh parchment on his desk and stepped away with an expectant smile, “I think you’ll do great, far better than I.”

“I doubt that,” another sigh, “what if Rufus… acts like himself?”

“Take him out back and punch him in the stomach, it’ll sober him up.”

Lambert was not lying, he’d done it before. Dimitri only frowned, “What if someone is passive aggressive to Patricia and she rips all of the curtains off the windows again?”

“I’ll take care of her! You’ll understand once you get a wife.”

He wouldn’t, but that was fine. Patricia was a very special woman, yet his step mother was not the biggest concern for the prince. “What about Edelgard? What if she starts a debate with someone and challenges them to a duel?”

A thoughtful pause. A knowing smile that crinkled the corners of Lambert’s eyes, “Then it’s free entertainment.”

He had a point. Edelgard’s duels _were_ highly entertaining. 

“Speaking of wives,” smooth as butter, Lambert leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, attempting to look casual and utterly failing, “there’ll be many wonderful women at the festivities. Do you think you might…. you know?”

“I don’t, I’m sorry.”

“Yes you do! I know you do!” The King clenched his fist, “I don’t mean to pressure you, but I would really, _really_ like grandchildren.”

Horrified, he looked up, “Do you only care about me for my baby making potential?”

“I care for plenty of things! But I _especially_ care for grandchildren.”

Of course he did, most parents got to the point of baby insanity in their 50s, though Lambert and Patricia were kind enough to keep their desires _relatively_ at bay. It was a once in a month conversation, the subject of grandchildren and marriage. Dimitri supposed he should be grateful that his father was not obsessed with crests as his _own_ father was. Dimitri would never be forced to marry a stranger for the sake of producing a certain type of child. That alone made him far more fortunate than other nobility. 

Lambert was a simple man. He wanted a grandchild to spoil, and Dimitri remained his only option - Edelgard vehemently rejected the idea of marriage. 

“I hear the Goneril daughter is very beautiful.”

Hilda, a sly grin and a load of complaints. He grimaced, “Not my type.”

“What about the Varley heiress?”

Bernadetta, a walking bundle of anxiety. “That poor girl would scream if I so much as breathed in her direction.”

Lambert sighed and ran a hand through his hair, staring out the window over Dimitri’s shoulder. “You’re too picky. What about that young lady from the Aegir house?”

“Father, for the last time Ferdinand is not a woma-“

“No, no! I mean Lord Ludwig’s youngest daughter!”

He was not aware that Ludwig von Aegir had a daughter, nor had Ferdinand ever mentioned such a thing. He and Dimitri were not the closest at the Academy, but he had never even heard rumor of another von Aegir child. He’d think with all the bragging that constantly streamed out of Ferdinand’s mouth, the subject would have come up eventually. 

Dimitri blinked, and stared at the empty parchment on the desk. Another von Aegir child, one he did not even know of. “Why have I not heard of her until now?”

“Oh,” he waved a nonchalant hand, “Ludwig sent me a letter awhile back asking if she could attend the ball. Apparently she’s been terrified of the world her entire life, thus the lack of socializing and notability. This is her first time outside of Adrestia.”

She was another Bernadetta. He’d have to introduce himself and help her to feel comfortable, the poor thing. “Well, hopefully she has fun.”

“If you like her then you can ask her to stay a while… Hell, we’ve got 100 guest rooms, ask a ton of ladies to stay.”

Dimitri could hardly handle his step mother and step sister staying in the same building. “That would be chaos! And not to mention that it would be unfair to each of them!”

“It’s just a suggestion,” Lambert shrugged and stepped away. Dimitri watched as his father opened the door and stood in the hallway, retreating from the rebellious exasperation of the tired prince, “No pressure. I mean, there _is_ pressure, but it’s just about the seating arrangements and ordering food. Remember, no chocolate. And don’t put Sylvain next to Ingrid’s grandmother.”

Another defeated sigh, “Noted.”

“Remember to have a servant to water the whiskey down.”

“Yes sir.”

“And make sure the rooms are all clean, most guests will stay for an entire week!”

“I’ll take care of it-“

“Marquis Vestra hates paisleys, take down every paisley print in the castle.”

Taken aback, he stiffened, “I don’t think that’s-“

“And the Riegan boy has requested his room be filled with various chemicals as well.”

“Father,” Dimitri put up a hand, “Do not give Claude access to any chemicals, please.”

“He is a guest, and if he wants chemicals then-“

“No. Trust me on this, just no.”

The grin returned to Lambert’s face, “See, you’re already taking charge and bossing me around, that’s a good sign.”

Was it a good sign that he had to talk his father out of providing Claude von Riegan with dangerous chemicals at a party? It was either him taking charge, or his father acting incredibly naive. Dimitri nearly suspected that he was setting him up for success in hosting this party, as any loving father would. 

He had to finish this guest seating list, he had to order more food and get the maids to thoroughly clean each guest room. He had to greet each and every noble as they arrived the week of, and be a perfect prince on top of it all. 

It was a month away, and he was already exhausted. 

“I’ll take care of everything,” he attempted a reassuring smile to his father in the doorway, “I won’t let you down.”

A wink, a chuckle. Lambert’s smile was like sunshine on a cold day. 

“I know you will. You’ll do great.”

****

* * *

**A Week Later**

**Aegir Territory, Eastern Adrestia**

Byleth Eisner did _not_ enjoy these terrible contraptions called ‘bobby pins’. Nor did she enjoy what they did in her hair, how they felt against her scalp, or how they tasted in her mouth. Ferdinand tried to remind her that she should _not_ put them in her mouth, but what is the mouth if not a third hand? Byleth disliked each aspect of these infernal inventions. Even if her hair did look very nice. 

She could not hardly recognize her visage in the mirror. The woman that stared back at her was soft skinned and glowing, she was blushing like a bride, with hair like silk and curls that fell around her neck. She parted her lips, and widened her eyes, and stared at her reflection. 

Sorcery, obviously. Ferdinand did not tell her he had magic that could change her appearance. “What did you do to me? I look like my mother.”

“Well, you _are_ her daughter.”

He was so smug about himself, leaning on her shoulders and smiling at the stranger in the mirror. She wore a dress that flowed down her chest like a waterfall, and simultaneously, somehow, created an anxious pit in the bottom of her stomach. “I don’t feel very comfortable, Ferdie.”

His grin, unfortunately, grew even brighter, “But you look beautiful. _I’d_ fall in love with you if I hadn't seen how you eat beforehand.”

“Well that’s sweet,” she glared at the reflection, the full length mirror that engulfed her body, “but it’s not really me.”

“It’s you, just a… different version of you.”

Ferdinand truly was a sorcerer of a special kind. He curled her hair and lined her lashes, he put her in a dress that fit her body so perfectly. Dark velvet green ran up her arms and complimented the beads fitted so neatly into her curled bun of hair. A tightly laced corset forced her chest up, and her back straight. She, for once, looked as if she had straight posture. The difference was night and day. 

“So this is how I’ll look for the ball?” Her nose crinkled against the reflection, “I’m a bit warm in this dress.”

“Oh trust me,” he chuckled, “you won’t be once we get into Faerghus. Now,” stepping back, he took her hand and led her away from the stranger in the mirror, to the table prepared in the next room. It awaited her arrival with wine glasses and long rows of utensils, “Your next lesson is proper dining.”

It was lesson, after lesson, for a week straight. She had arrived at the Aegir manor just several days ago, and was immediately thrown into the education of proper culture, as befits a noblelady of house Aegir. She would be Ferdinand’s younger sister, a shy and sheltered lady who did not have many friends. He was sure that Dimitri would be enchanted by her coy looks, and soft demeanor. 

If Byleth could act that well, that is. She was not nearly as confident in her abilities. 

Taking a seat at the table and picking up the smallest fork in the row, she sighed. Ferdinand sat across from her and rested his chin on his hand, “The salad fork, good job.”

Salad fork, okay. She could remember that. As irritable as the lessons made her, the reminder of 50,000 gold stuck inside in her mind on repeat. Just learn about forks, and posture, and how to pronounce ‘Alexandre’ and ‘Blaiddyd’ correctly. The latter was more difficult than it should have been. 

Yet, she held a fork correctly, and she sat with perfect posture, and Ferdinand had somehow made her look beautiful. “We’ll be leaving in a week, yes?”

He took a languid sip of his red wine, “Yes. It will be a two week journey to Fhirdiad, then the festivities will last for another week.”

Horrified, she gasped, “A week?”

“A week,” he laughed, “that’s nothing. You should’ve been around for the month long game of chess I played with Hubert von Vestra.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“He won. I think he cheated, honestly,” Ferdinand shook his head and took another sip of wine, “but really, parties can last for much longer than a week. It takes two _just_ _to_ _arrive_ in Fhirdiad, it would be a shame to stay just for one night!”

“I suppose I see,” Byleth stuffed lettuce in her mouth, chewing as she thought aloud, “Do you expect me to learn all of his secrets in one week, though?”

He deflated for all of half a second, as long as he would allow himself. “Father and his colleagues have a plan B if you cannot.”

“And that is?”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to resort to that.”

“You really think I can learn the Blaiddyd family secrets in a week?”

A grin, a sparkle in his eye. He tipped his glass back and carried her gaze across the table. Her fake big brother, this man she had to pretend to adore for an entire week in the most foreign of places. And she would kill someone at his command. The very idea shook her to her core. 

“I believe in you, Byleth von Aegir. I know you can do it.”

It was a nice thought. Little did he know: Byleth would prove to be entirely, utterly, useless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm hoping to get into the meeting between byleth and dimitri in the next chapter. Comment if you liked it, have any questions, or just want to say hi! Love you all <3


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